


there are ghosts here

by cosmicpoet



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Rantaro has to go to a bereavement group, in which he meets someone he feels like, finally, he can relate to. But Korekiyo can't talk about death in the same way Rantaro can, because they live two different horrors. Trauma rules the lives of people in this circle, but breaking free from that might mean dragging everything out into the open.





	there are ghosts here

**Author's Note:**

> Please read this before reading this fic. This deals with some very heavy topics, like bereavement, abuse, and sexual abuse. As it deals with Korekiyo Shinguji, you can probably imagine what this entails. I want to portray these subjects as disgusting as they are, without any glorification or sugar-coating. Throughout Korekiyo's Free Time Events, there is evidence that what went on with his sister was non-consensual on his part, or at least born from manipulation. That's what I'm trying to explore in this fic, and I want to do that as sensitively and respectfully as I can. Please do not read this fic if any of the topics mentioned in this note and the tags are in any way a trigger for you.
> 
> This fic is rated Mature because it contains these themes. Whilst nothing is described graphically, only referenced in the past, it's important to keep yourself safe.
> 
> SEXUAL ABUSE HELPLINES (UK): <https://www.itv.com/thismorning/rape-helplines>
> 
> SEXUAL ABUSE HELPLINES (INTERNATIONAL): <http://www.ibiblio.org/rcip/internl.html>
> 
> BEREAVEMENT HELPLINES (UK): <https://www.itv.com/thismorning/bereavement-helplines>
> 
> SAMARITANS: <https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help-you>
> 
> CHILDLINE: <https://www.childline.org.uk/>
> 
> Please never feel as though you should suffer alone through trauma, abuse, mental illness, and anything that affects you negatively. See a doctor, talk to a trusted adult, reach out to someone. The world is not against you.

The door hangs open like an almost-wound, dripping from the frame as if clinging onto a bloody reality. Rantaro’s hand still shakes around the keys, his brain not quite caught up with the fact that there is nothing to unlock any more - only a visceral creak of his house, chokingly silent as he pushes open the door and sees the disarray.

And then there’s the blood. Straight away, he hasn’t even walked through the frame of the house, but somehow he’s in the thick of it already, kneeling on the living room floor with his hands coated scarlet. Pushing on the chest of someone long dead, discarding the keys to the carpet with the smashed glass and the remnants of the lives. Everything mingling, blood on blood on manicured hands, pushing, pushing, but lifeless remains lifeless and sobs are soundless.

The world rips out small hearts and forces them into his hands, saying _‘take these now’_ and _‘they don’t beat because of you’,_ and all he can do is scream without purpose at the soot in the air that shouldn’t be there, past midnight in the liminal space of a house without a breath of real life in it. Two hearts for two hands, nothing left to wipe his tears or punch or avenge, only to hold nothingness without pushing on the chests of the dead.

Wires, now. Scraping against his hands like crucifying fishhooks until he drops the hearts and scrambles to pick them up, all too late; he’s failed _again,_ as they pull him backwards until he’s engulfed in the blood, banging against the open door, choking on sobs and the thick of iron until he can’t breathe any more.

When he’s all strung up, metal hanging from flesh hanging off hidden hinges, all he can do is watch in excruciating pain as blood pours from every crack in the ceiling and he thinks that there’s nothing in the world that can be done to repair what was lost.

* * *

 

Rantaro wakes with a sharp intake of breath that seems to stab cold air into his lungs. Shaking, he grips the duvet, trying to ground himself into anything other than the nightmare. His therapist tells him to define these dreams as _nightmares,_ rather than memories, but he doesn’t feel like the word gives or takes any of the power that his mind has; the cold facts are that it happened, and however it manifests, he can’t change the past.

It takes him a moment to adjust his eyes to the beside clock, telling him that it’s not quite early enough to be considered morning. At 5am, his only choice is to stay in bed - at least, with the hour as it is now, he can convince himself that he ever had the option to do otherwise; he’s been in bed for over twenty-four hours now, unable to do anything but ward off sleep and thoughts and attempt to sink so far into the mattress that he ceases to exist.

His bedroom door, shut so tightly that no light gets in, opens, and he has to stop himself from remembering the visceral images that flash through his thoughts. It’s only Kaede. With her soft voice and calming words, she knows to announce her presence the moment the door cracks open and light leaks into Rantaro’s room.

“Another nightmare?” Kaede asks. He nods. They’ve rehearsed this dance many times, the one where Rantaro sticks to the sweat of his pyjamas and she tries not to let him see how cautious of breaking him she is. Lifting up his duvet, she gets into the bed next to him and he rests his head on her chest; she strokes his hair, there’s nothing she can say to make him feel better. They’ve tried everything.

“You’ve got group today,” she says softly.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I know, I know,” she turns her head a little so he doesn’t see the worry on her face; the tears in her eyes. Holding him tightly, she sees him shake a little less once he becomes grounded by the rise and fall of her chest. “But you have to go. I promise you it’ll help.”

“It never does.”

“Today might be different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But you have to have hope, because that’s the one thing that can keep us all going.”

“Hope just means that I can get let down.”

“It also means that you’re still feeling.”

Rantaro looks up at her, absolutely broken. His face, wet with tears, shows simultaneously no emotion and everything at once. He clings to the light cotton of Kaede’s soft pink pyjamas and begs her not to go. So she stays. She always stays. Even when he pulls a pouch of tobacco from the bedside drawer and rolls a cigarette; he knows she disapproves, but she doesn’t say anything any more. He knows that she’s just glad he’s alive.

The smoke thickens the air and he imagines that if there’s blood on the walls, he won’t be able to see it. Even then, everything is too much for him to take in, and he closes his eyes, trying to concentrate only on Kaede stroking his hair. He doesn’t even realise it, but he’s putting the cigarette close to the skin of his arm, out of habit, and when the fire connects with flesh he audibly gasps; Kaede notices, and pulls his hand away quickly, worriedly.

“Rantaro…”

“Save it,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“No…I…”

She loops her arms in his and helps him out of bed and into the bathroom, where she puts his arm under the tap and runs cold water over it. He’s on autopilot, not even speaking or comprehending what’s happening as she washes the burn and applies antiseptic; she’s learned to always keep bandages in the bathroom drawers, and she needs them now. Wrapping his arm as gently as she can, she avoids eye contact and places a kiss on the bandages, right over the place that will soon, inevitably, scar. 

Tears well in his eyes. He’s gone from being protective of his sisters, to being achingly useless, and now he’s landed at rock bottom, where his best friend has to help him out of bed. He should just die.

Kaede puts toothpaste on a toothbrush and hands it to him. At least there’s something that she trusts him to do alone. It’s not like he can force the toothbrush to the back of his mouth and throw up. Although actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But looking at her face, she just looks _tired,_ and he remembers how most people are still asleep right now; he’s forced her awake, he’s reliant on her, and he hates himself for it. So he just finishes brushing his teeth, and tells her that she can go back to bed.

She shakes her head. In that moment, Rantaro is unsure of whether he despises her for being the kind of person he wishes he had been…wishes he could be.

And of course, she makes him breakfast. She brings it to him as he sits on the end of his bed, still wearing a stained pyjama shirt, fiddling with his grinder.

“You sure you want to smoke up before group?”

“Eh, I don’t care.”

“I’m not gonna stop you. You should eat, though.”

He used to like the assumptions that people made about him. _Rantaro Amami, dumb stoner, stupid rich kid with nothing on his mind except adventure. What does someone like that know of hardship?_

They were right, he thinks. He took everything for granted until his parents died, and then he found himself taking care of his two younger sisters, but things were still good; they had enough inheritance that he could still afford to make sure his siblings got the best education. And then it happened, and drugs became his only release. But it’s easier to pretend that he’s the person he used to be, when he didn’t feel weighed down by the guilt of not being better.

Kaede picks out an outfit for him to wear, clothes that feel strange and static against his skin, a reminder that the world will go on around him, without his sisters and with his grief. When she drives him to his bereavement group, hours later, she stays silent; he loves her for that. He needs time to prepare, mentally, to talk about what happened and pretend as though he cares about the stories of those around him.

“I have to head to work now,” Kaede says as she drops him off, “but I can nip out and pick you back up in an hour.”

“I can just get the bus.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m not completely incapable.”

“I didn’t mean…alright. But text me if you want a lift at any point, okay?”

“Will do.”

She gives him a hug; she’s soft, sweet perfume, flowery blouses, smiles and lipgloss. He hates the contrast. He’s depression, and oversized jumpers that hide the burns and bandages, perpetual dark circles and messy hair.

Tactfully, he turns his head when they break off the hug so that she doesn’t see the emptiness on his face.

* * *

 

The bereavement group takes place in a church hall that gets rented out once a week for people to sob and share their pathetic stories of grief and loss, of people who had diseases, grandparents, all those kinds of people that you expect to die. Everyone there is older than him, pushing forty at best, and he wonders if every bereavement group has one out of place twenty-two year old dealing with a loss that nobody ever expects will happen to _them._ The chairs are aligned in a circle, and stale cookies are served alongside weak tea and coffee, like elevenses are going to raise the dead and make everyone happy again. Members come and go, but Rantaro has, against his will, come to recognise the faces of those who turn up regularly. The old man who lost his wife half a year ago, the woman whose mother died to an aggressive battle with cancer, et cetera, et cetera. Some people turn up for one session, and decide it isn’t for them, and they’re never heard of within the group again. It’s too tight-knit to be comfortable. And none of this surprises Rantaro at all.

So why is he intrigued when he sees someone his own age here?

He’s stood by the refreshments table, fiddling with the busted tap on the coffee dispenser; it’s a lesson they’ve all had to learn before, that there’s a knack to pouring the coffee out. Normally, Rantaro would just let this man struggle, but his feet find their way across the ground to him, and suddenly, he’s taking the cup out of the man’s hands.

“Here,” he says, “this is a tricky one. You have to pull it up whilst you pour. See?”

He pours a cup of coffee for the man.

“Thank you,” he says, “what’s your name?”

“I’m Rantaro. I don’t really talk to many people here. It’s best to just let them get on with it. Show your face and they can’t really complain that you don’t talk.”

“I’m Korekiyo.”

“So go on then, who’d you lose?”

“Sorry?”

“Who died? They’re gonna make you spit it out in your first session, it’ll be easier if someone already knows.”

“O-Oh,” Korekiyo says, “right. My sister.”

Rantaro’s heart drops. “Oh.”

“And you?”

“M-My…eh, it doesn’t matter. They’re probably gonna make me talk about it today anyway. I think they’ve noticed how much I haven’t spoken in weeks.”

Suddenly, Rantaro finds himself sitting next to Korekiyo, and he hates that he’s talked to someone genuinely in this godforsaken group. There go his plans of sneaking out one day and nobody knowing where he’s gone, because he gets the feeling that Korekiyo will be curious about him, and then that will spiral into…no. Never mind. It’s only an hour.

He zones out. Everyone’s talking about how different it is to eat breakfast alone, to order coffee for two accidentally, and he just doesn’t relate to any of it. How these people can absentmindedly forget that they’ve lost the most important person in their lives makes him hate them; they’re all selfish, and he knows that this group doesn’t help him at all, but he promised Kaede he’d keep going, and it’s the least he owes her after all she’s done for him.

“Rantaro,” he hears the instructor speaking, “are you with us?”

“O-Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“You haven’t spoken in a few weeks. Would you like to tell us what’s been going on with you?”

_Not really._

“I had the nightmare again.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Fucking wonderful. Like the whole world is good, and then I wanted to join hands with my dead sisters and sing fucking _All Things Bright and Beautiful._ It made me feel shit. It always makes me feel shit.”

“Anger is a rational reaction to grief, you know.”

“Yeah, you’ve said.”

“So would you like to tell the group what happened in the nightmare this time?”

“The usual. Walking through the front door, seeing the blood, trying CPR and failing at everything.”

“And have you spoken to your therapist about this?”

“Yeah. We can move on now. I’ve spoken, you can feel good about yourself for getting me to open up or some bullshit like that, let’s not drag this out any longer.”

“R-Right,” the instructor says, “and we all have a new member to welcome this week. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Korekiyo looks around, fixing his eyes on Rantaro. Uncomfortable, Rantaro averts his gaze and looks at the ground.

“I’m Korekiyo Shinguji.”

“Hello, Korekiyo,” everyone says. Rantaro mutters something about the whole group sounding like an AA meeting.

“Who did you lose, Korekiyo? It’s understandable if you don’t want to elaborate just yet, but the rules are that each person must state and acknowledge their loss during the first session.”

“My sister.”

Korekiyo doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the session, and neither does Rantaro. When it ends, he tries to sneak out without being noticed, whilst the rest of them - the older ones - gather together in faux-comfort. The first thing he does once he gets outside of the so-called sacred ground is light up a pre-rolled cigarette as he walks to the bus stop.

“Hey, Rantaro,” a soft voice from behind him calls out. He turns to see Korekiyo approaching him, his coat only half on.

“Hey.”

“You got a light?”

“Yeah,” Rantaro fumbles in his pocket and pulls out the lighter. Seeing Korekiyo flick on the flame makes the burn on his arm seem to hurt more, but he doesn’t say anything; he never says anything. Emotions just hurt.

“Are you going to the bus stop?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yes.”

And just like that, they’re walking together, not speaking, but falling in line with each other’s steps until they see the big sign saying that the bus stop is closed.

“Ah,” Korekiyo says.

“I guess I can just walk home.”

“Me too.”

“See you, then.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

Rantaro takes off walking, only to see that Korekiyo has already begun to walk in the same direction. This awkwardness goes on for a few moments before he decides to say something.

“We’re going the same way.”

“Yes, I see that,” Korekiyo replies.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.”

“Are you going to come back to the group next week?”

“It’s likely. I’m not sure, honestly. Are you?”

“Yeah, I kinda have to. Made a promise to my best friend.”

“Right. You don’t seem to talk much in there, though.”

“They wouldn’t understand.”

“Surely, if anyone is going to understand, it’ll be those who have also gone through a loss?”

“They’re all, like, losing old people who were gonna die anyway. And yeah, it sucks, and I feel sorry for them, but they just don’t get what it’s like to lose…”

“Lose your sisters?”

“Yeah.”

“How old were they?”

“Young. 15 and 12. I was supposed to be taking care of them but…I’d gone out…just gone to the shop to get more tobacco…and I came back and…”

“What happened?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I get the feeling that you haven’t told anybody this story in a long time.”

“Fuck…I came back and…there’d been a robbery. Home invasion. Whatever you wanna call it. But…it was armed. They took everything and…my sisters…I should have been at home to protect them. God, I was such an idiot. I thought it would be okay to leave them alone for ten minutes but…the police said…they’d been watching the house and they came in the moment I left…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They walk in silence until they reach a crossroads, and find out that they’re both going different ways. Rantaro manages a weak smile at Korekiyo, before he puts his hands in his pockets and faces the world alone.

* * *

 

Back in the apartment, he opens the fridge to find that Kaede has made lunch and packed it up for him; he can’t bring himself to eat, but he appreciates the effort. Instead, he just takes out his bong again, fascinated every time he lights it, until he’s just left staring at the ceiling and trying to embrace unreality.

Of course, Kaede forces him to eat dinner when she gets back from work. He makes the effort to leave his room and join her in the kitchen, even when she looks at him with concern as he opens a bottle of red wine. He makes sure to pour his glass no more than hers, trying to alleviate her worry, but he still feels like he doesn’t pay her back anywhere near as much as he should for the kindness she’s given him. 

“I met someone at group today,” he says, and her eyes light up.

“Really? Tell me!”

“He’s my age. It’s nothing big, it’s just…nice to have someone there who gets it. He lost his sister too.”

“You should see him outside of group.”

“That would involve leaving the house.”

“Yeah, and that’d do you some good, Rantaro!”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Alright. I won’t push you. You should at least get his phone number, though. Maybe he could be someone you could relate to?”

“I don’t want to relate to someone just because their sister died too.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaede says.

“No, no, don’t be. It’s me. I’m on edge today.”

“That’s to be expected, though. Don’t blame yourself.”

* * *

 

Kaede’s words ring in his ears as he goes back to the bereavement group a week later. He’s unsure why he feels almost thankful to see Korekiyo back there, even though they don’t talk at all until it’s over.

“Hey Korekiyo,” Rantaro says whilst everyone is packing up their things, “do you want to go and get some coffee? I feel like…this group isn’t helpful, but it might be nice to be friends with someone who…y’know…gets it?”

“I’d like that.”

At the coffee shop, Rantaro tries to figure Korekiyo out, but nothing comes to mind - he doesn’t seem to be dealing with grief in the same way that he himself is, but there’s definitely something that’s under his skin, festering and causing him to bloom with negative emotions like burned roses. They exchange phone numbers, and then silence falls, until Korekiyo stares at the ground and speaks.

“I don’t want to mislead you.”

“Huh?”

“My sister…she’s not…dead.”

“What?”

“She’s alive.”

Anger bursts in Rantaro’s chest, the feeling of utter betrayal seeping into his veins and carrying itself along with his blood right to his heart, where it pierces and twists itself into something grotesque.

“So you’ve not lost someone at all then? You just go to bereavement groups and get off on other people’s stories, and then you go home to your perfect little life and laugh about how hard the rest of us have it? God, you’re sick! You’re fucking vile!”

“N-No…I…”

“Save it, Korekiyo. You disgust me. Don’t you dare show your face next week.”

“Rantaro, please…”

Rantaro slams his hands on the table and stands up. He feels the same hatred for the men who killed his sisters right now, as he balls up a wad of saliva in his mouth and spits directly in Korekiyo’s face, expecting him to fight back. That’s what he needs right now, to _feel something._ He wants Korekiyo to stand up and punch him, but he just…sits there, like he accepts it. Not wanting to see the tears that will inevitably well into Korekiyo’s eyes, Rantaro walks away and storms down the street.

Back at the apartment, he feels nothing, even when he lights match after match and presses them against the skin of his arm, looking in resentment as they leave ugly, burnt craters in his flesh. Kaede is on an overnight work retreat, and he promised her - he _promised_ her - that he’d call if he needed her, but right now all he wants is to be alone. Which is why his anger only grows when his phone beeps.

**< From Unknown Number: 15:10> **Rantaro. Please talk to me.

**< To Unknown Number: 15:11> **is this korekiyo? fuck off.

**< From Unknown Number: 15:11> **It is. And I understand, but please hear me out.

Rantaro angrily changes the number in his phone to a new contact.

**< To DO NOT TEXT: 15:13> **give me one fucking good reason why i shouldn’t block your number right now? 

**< From DO NOT TEXT: 15:14> **Because if I truly did enjoy hearing people’s grief stories, I wouldn’t have told you that my sister was alive.

**< To DO NOT TEXT: 15:14> **maybe this is just another sick fucking part of your plan?? i don’t want anything from you.

**< From DO NOT TEXT: 15:15> **I don’t want to take anything from you. And I won’t show up to the bereavement group next week, but I honestly don’t get anything from going there except my own closure.

**< To DO NOT TEXT: 15:15> **closure?? for what?? for the sister that’s still fucking alive??

**< From DO NOT TEXT: 15:16> **It’s really complicated. Please, just lets meet somewhere and I can tell you everything. I don’t like the idea that you only know half of the story, especially since I haven’t told anyone before. Then you can make judgements on me, and I’ll accept whatever you decide.

**< To DO NOT TEXT: 15:16> **and how do i know you’re not just planning on murdering me or some shit?? you’re a creep

**< From DO NOT TEXT: 15:17> **Rantaro, this is all I’ll ever ask from you. But trust me, I get no pleasure from going to the bereavement group.

**< To DO NOT TEXT: 15:18> **fine. meet me by the bus stop outside the church then.

**< From DO NOT TEXT: 15:18> **Thank you.

Why is he doing this? There’s a very large possibility that Korekiyo could be trying to get close to him to hurt him, but then again, Rantaro hasn’t cared in a long time whether he gets hurt or not. And he _did_ want a fight before, so maybe this could be his chance to feel something. However he rationalises it in his mind, he can’t escape the thought that maybe being murdered would be better - he wouldn’t have to live any more, and Kaede would be free of the obligations she puts on herself to help him.

* * *

 

Korekiyo is already at the bus stop when Rantaro arrives. He doesn’t sit down; he likes standing up and looking down on Korekiyo like he has the upper hand, but all he can feel is anger.

“Tell me right now why you lied about your sister dying.”

“Rantaro, please sit down.”

“No. Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

“I lied about it because…I wish she was dead.”

“What? You’re even more sick than I thought! So you’re some kind of fucking psycho, going to bereavement groups and getting sympathy from people before you go out and murder your next victim? How many people have you killed? Do you feel _nothing?_ How the hell did you think that telling me this would make me-”

“She abused me.”

“What?” Rantaro sits down next to Korekiyo, but he maintains his distance still.

“She abused me. For years. I managed to leave last year, in the middle of the night. I couldn’t bring much with me, only a few clothes and my wallet, but I skipped town and, after a few months, I ended up here. I don’t think she knows where I am.”

“W-What?”

“Since I was a kid, she’s been my guardian. And she…took advantage of that. Made me keep quiet about it all. I was…I am…terrified of her. So it’s easier to pretend like she was a nice sister who died instead of an alive one who hurt me.”

“So you thought you’d go to a bereavement group and pretend she was dead instead of, like, going to the police?”

“The police wouldn’t do anything. She’s…really good at manipulation. If I went to the police, she’d just end up knowing where I am. She’d dodge the charges and then I’d be back there. So I just fantasise about killing her.”

“You’d really do that? You’d just…kill her?”

“She’s not worth anything alive. I hate her.”

“That’s understandable. But don’t you think that might be trauma talking, y’know, the whole _wanting to kill her_ thing?”

“Probably. But I don’t care. The way I see it, my life’s already been tainted. She used to make a huge deal about being pure, and she ruined that for me. I’m disgusting because of her. If I kill her, I’m just living up to what she made me.”

“She didn’t make you disgusting. You don’t have to be defined by what she made you.”

“Ha. That’d be nice. But you’re wrong, Rantaro. You have to remember that she practically raised me, and with that, she gave me the values that she wanted me to believe. She was all about purity, and then she took that away from me, again and again and again.”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, you were right. You didn’t know about any of this. For all you knew, I _was_ just an asshole who liked to listen to people’s grief.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Me? I’ll just…keep going on, I suppose. Move towns every year, hope she won’t track me. She ruined any chances I had of having a normal life anyway, so I won’t be hoping for anything more than what I’ve got.”

“That’s…not fair.”

“I know. But I can’t change it.”

“Yes you can.”

“How?”

“Well, you can start by telling yourself that she’s not dead. Once you do that, you can accept that you need to, like, make sure she’ll never find you again.”

“That’s why I want to kill her.”

“Doing that’ll just land you in jail. It won’t make you feel alright again. You…we…need to go to the police about this.”

“I can’t go to the police! Rantaro, don’t you see? If I do anything, she’ll manipulate the situation in her favour. I’m stuck! The only outcome would be that she finds me again.”

“She won’t find you.”

“Thank you, Rantaro. I don’t think you get it, but…thank you. You can go now.”

“R-Right, yeah. But come back to the group next week if it helps?”

“I probably won’t, but thank you.”

Rantaro changes the number in his phone to Korekiyo’s name, but he doesn’t receive another text.

* * *

 

Weeks pass. Each time he goes to the group, he half hopes that he’ll see Korekiyo again, but he never shows his face. Worry begins to overtake him as he questions whether he did the right thing in walking away from the bus stop, thinking that he’d listened enough, done enough. Has he failed someone yet again?

So life becomes once more a loop of events; bereavement group, Kaede’s breakfasts going uneaten, getting high, burning his arm, new bandages and Kaede’s tired eyes until he’s shocked out of his monotony by his phone ringing.

Nobody ever calls him. They know he doesn’t pick up. But it’s Korekiyo, and he answers the call.

“Hey,” he says.

“R-Rantaro?”

“What’s up?”

“I know I sound stupid but…I think I saw her car outside my apartment a few minutes ago, and now it’s gone. I have a knife in my hand and I feel like I could kill her…I could hurt her…fuck, I _want_ her to walk through this door so I can kill her but…I remembered what you said and…”

“It’s alright,” he says, “it’s probably not her, but I can come and pick you up and you can come to mine. She won’t find you here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” He doesn’t say that he’s feeling something for the first time in months because he could possibly be useful again; he knows that would be capitalising off someone else’s suffering, and he’s adamant in his belief that that’s wrong.

He takes Kaede’s car - she’s staying over at her girlfriend’s house tonight, after he persuaded her to. She needed a break. When Korekiyo texts him the address, he’s there in under ten minutes.

**< To Korekiyo: 22:35> **i’m outside

**< From Korekiyo: 22:35> **Alright I’ll come down are you by the entrance?

**< To Korekiyo: 22:36> **yeah, i’m parked as close as i can get, and i’ve got my headlights on

**< From Korekiyo: 22:37> **Okay I’m coming down I haven’t seen her since I thought I did so it should be okay

Rantaro sees Korekiyo leaving the apartment building; once he spots the car, he runs towards it and gets in. 

“Drive, please.”

He shifts the car into gear and takes it down the street, taking the long and convoluted way back to his apartment to ease Korekiyo’s mind about his sister following them. When he stops at a traffic light, he turns to Korekiyo and sees that he’s in pyjamas, with his hair tied up in two buns; he looks significantly less composed and well put-together than he did at the bereavement group.

“Hey,” Rantaro says, “it’s gonna be fine.”

“I…I know. I just…I could have killed her, Rantaro, and I wouldn’t have felt sorry about it. I don’t think morality applies here.”

“It’s complicated, yeah.”

When they arrive back at Rantaro’s apartment, Korekiyo watches as Rantaro locks the door. They sit in his bedroom, with cups of tea and all the lights off; Korekiyo is wrapped in the duvet and he looks white with terror. Hours pass like this, and Rantaro is unsure of what to say - he should be _better,_ more able to protect Korekiyo, but the reality that he just isn’t like Kaede hits him with full force.

Something turns in the lock of the door, and Korekiyo drops his mug onto the bed in horror, spilling cold tea on the sheets. 

“It’ll only be Kaede,” Rantaro says, “I promise it’s fine.”

“B-But what if…?”

“She’s not got a key to this place, has she? I promise it’ll be alright.”

“What if she’s picking the lock? She’s done that before in our old house and I-”

_“Korekiyo!”_

Shit. That’s not Kaede.

“Look, she doesn’t know for sure you’re here,” Rantaro says, trying to maintain a clear head when he’s so tempted to just give up and die because he _can’t protect Korekiyo,_ “just hide under the bed, alright? I’ll go and sort it out.”

Rantaro helps Korekiyo get under the bed and drapes the duvet down so that it hides the opening; this way, it looks like Rantaro has been alone, and he’s just got out of bed to face the intruder.

When he leaves the room, he sees a woman, older than Korekiyo, but very clearly related to him. She’s got malice in her eyes as she steps forward towards Rantaro, taller than him by quite a bit - she’s likely taller than Korekiyo, too.

“Who the hell are you and why are you in my apartment?”

“I’m looking for my little brother,” she says, forcing her expression into fake concern, “he ran away and I’ve been searching for him for months.”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you’re not gonna find whoever you’re looking for in my apartment.”

“Oh really? I really won’t?” 

“Yeah, you really won’t. Look, just get out, alright? I don’t wanna have to call the police.”

“Call them.”

“What?”

“Call them. They won’t get here in time. I have no reason to hurt you, and nobody’s even gonna believe that I would anyway - not me, not a weak girl against such a strong man like you…Rantaro.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Oh, I’ve been researching. I’m not an idiot. Hacking phones nowadays is really easy if you know who to contact. So just tell me where Korekiyo is and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“He’s not here!”

“I think he is, Rantaro. And if you don’t show me where he is, then I’ll just have to find him myself.”

His fist connects with her face before he even realises that he’s punching her. She gets knocked to the ground, blood coming from her lip, but she’s…laughing?

“You’re so easy to manipulate,” she says, staring right at him, “this is exactly what I wanted.”

“Huh?”

_“Oh, I’ll call the police,”_ she mimics, “I don’t care. I called them before I even came in. And now they’ll just see a poor woman, knocking on the door of someone she hopes will be a kind samaritan. I’m out of gas and just wanted to use your phone, and you punched me in the face. That’s an assault charge just waiting to happen, you know.”

“They won’t believe you.”

“Oh, they will. People _always_ believe me. And with you banged up in jail overnight, it’ll be so easy for me to take Korekiyo back to where he belongs.”

“That’s…”

Rantaro can’t even finish his sentence before the police barge in, and Korekiyo’s sister starts to sob. She cowers on the floor and the scene looks exactly the way she staged it - the depressed, off-the-rails man punching the helpless woman who only wanted to use his phone. He can’t even fight back when they handcuff him, and all he can see before he’s dragged out of his apartment is Korekiyo’s terrified face, his eyes flitting between Rantaro and his sister.

The cell he’s temporarily held in is cold, and he shivers against the wall as his mind takes him to a place he’d rather not go again. The idea of not being able to protect someone who meant so much to him, being useless again…he wishes he could die right now. But all he can do is ache with the uncertainty of what’s happening to Korekiyo.

When they question him, he tries to tell them everything, but it’s obvious that they don’t believe his story. His testimony devolves into manic questions of “Where is Korekiyo?”, over and over, without hope or response.

* * *

 

The trial date is set. Thankfully, Korekiyo also had to give a statement, and so he was in the police station, away from his sister, until he was let go alongside Rantaro. Still, they’re not out of the clear until the court case is over, and with the physical evidence stacked against him, Rantaro wonders how the hell he can get Korekiyo out of this one.

Kaede knows a lawyer. Of course Kaede knows a lawyer, because she’s everything he wishes he could be, and with his bank account more than capable to pay for the best, hope begins to shine again.

“I have money,” he says to Korekiyo, after they meet with the lawyer, “if I go down for this, I want you to take as much of it as you need and get out of the country. Change your name, cut your hair, do whatever you need, just get out of here.”

“I don’t want to. I finally found someone who believes in me, I’m not leaving you.”

“There’s no way I’m gonna be acquitted. I punched her in the fucking face!”

“Yes, you did. And I spoke to the lawyer privately. It’s not a case of proving that you didn’t punch her, it’s a case of proving that it was self-defence.”

“Self-defence? But she didn’t hit me?”

“I know. It would mean…compiling years worth of evidence against her for what she did to me, and then defending your case on the basis that she was a threat to me.”

“No. No way. I’m not making you go up there on the witness stand and look her in the eye when you testify against her. Even you have to admit that you’re not strong enough to do that.”

“It’s not a matter of whether I’m strong enough. It’s a matter of what I’m willing to do, and I’m willing to do this.”

“Korekiyo, please…”

“It’s not going to break me. It’s what you said, after all - take legal action.”

“Y-Yeah.”

* * *

 

Rantaro pleads not guilty, and the trial date is set. He sees the white-knuckle fear in Korekiyo’s whole body as they’re helping each other out with their suits; today is either the beginning or the end of something important.

And the lawyer that Rantaro has paid has been efficient. She dug through old phone calls to the police, reporting potential domestic violence at Korekiyo’s old address; things that never got followed up on but could provide the final nail in the coffin to bring down Korekiyo’s sister. 

When Korekiyo gets on the stand, he’s not the one to crumble. _Rantaro is._

Hearing Korekiyo talk about what he had to go through, years and years of endless abuse, of manipulation, of the cold and calculated twisting of his values and thoughts until he was convinced that _he_ was the one in the wrong…it just hurts. Because Rantaro realises in this moment just how much he’s come to love Korekiyo, and the memory of spitting in his face, of Korekiyo just _accepting it,_ makes him feel like he deserves to be thrown in jail.

He doesn’t want to listen to it. He doesn’t want to accept that this was a reality for Korekiyo for his whole life, but he’s forced to stare at him on the witness stand, fighting back tears to do the bravest thing that anyone has to do. 

The verdict is music to his ears. Not guilty for Rantaro, with Korekiyo’s sister pending trial for multiple counts of abuse. He couldn’t care less about being acquitted for assault, but the knowledge that Korekiyo will be away from his sister from this moment onwards marks a passing in the universe from things being terrible to things being on their way to okay.

Everything culminates, and Korekiyo’s sister’s control crashes to the ground. Korekiyo removes his mask, shoving it on the desk, and smiles. There are ghosts here, and they are not malicious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I know this fic wasn't happy, and dealt with a lot of serious issues. Please, if you're affected by anything that's represented in this fic, check the notes for helplines, and reach out to a trusted adult. Be safe.


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